Bedtime Stories
by radiumcandy
Summary: Donatello's fantasies of April, some more adventurous than others.
1. Chapter 1

I've always been a heavy sleeper

It comes from having two loud, annoying brothers and one loud, bossy one; if you want to get any sleep around here, you do so like a log. I've learned, furthermore, that my workshop is the only place in the lair far enough from the chaos of three vastly different personalities constantly clashing to get any peace and quiet.

Here, too, I can have my restless dreams.

Used to, I never got distracted from my work. I could grind away at drawing up blueprints, welding, soldering, programming, or whatever for sixteen hours before Master Splinter finally came in and bodily dragged me to bed. Occasionally he'd just let me work through my machinist's mania, and I'd wake up half-atop a brand-new invention I barely remembered engineering, much less building

Now it's different. Now my mind wanders; sometimes, it's like it isn't even my mind anymore. Master Splinter once described my sense of focus as "a vise," but even he knows it's changed. He puts a tolerant hand on my shoulder, nods understandingly when I laugh uneasily and tell him the boiler isn't quite fixed yet.

In his mind, these are growing pains. Normal teenage boy stuff.

_She_ haunts my dreams.

I doze off and my head drops to my arm across the desktop, narrowly avoiding the razor-sharp edge of a circuit board. I push it aside, not wanting to contaminate it with my saliva and dead skin cells, never mind the fact that I could lose an eye…then jolt awake briefly as I hear my name. It's not unusual to hallucinate when you're sleep-deprived, but I'm on edge now because it was _her_ voice.

I consider lifting my head to answer her. That's me, always attentive to her every need and whimsy. But instead I lay still, mimicking the slow, deep breaths of sleep, wondering what she'll do if she thinks I'm asleep.

"Donnie, wake up." Despite myself, I catch my breath as her arms find their way around my neck. She rests her cheek atop my head, and I can feel the shape of her cute button nose, the soft curve of her lips, against my skin. Her breath is a wash of hot air down my neck, insistent even in the silence, and I can't suppress a shudder.

Her voice is low and quiet in my ear.

"I knew you were awake, silly."

I want to turn around and look at her, but at the same time I don't want to lose her arms around me, or her skin against mine. "Hi April." It's impossible to sound casual; my voice comes out in a croak because my throat is Sahara-dry from her closeness, not to mention her touch.

"Just 'Hi April?'" She sounds more amused than disappointed. I close my eyes, feeling the barest instant of irritation with her. She knows exactly how I feel…well, she must have a very good idea, at least. Yet she's always teasing me with her hugs and touches that I'm supposed to believe are purely sisterly. Or I should learn to believe it, for my own damn good, Raph said.

"How long have you been asleep in that weird position? No wonder you're so stiff." I wince to myself at her choice of phrasing. Stiff, indeed. Her hands slide back onto my shoulders now, and I'm surprised by how strong they are despite their small size. Her thumbs press into the sides of my neck as she massages with unexpected skill, working out knots and bunches of tired muscle that had probably been that way for months. I all but melt into her hands with a sigh of pleasure, never mind that her ministrations are having a very different effect elsewhere.

"You like that?" She croons into my ear, a little breathlessly. It's the sweetest sound I've ever heard. I bite off a groan, burying my face in my arms to hide my reaction. She's not fooled. She laughs, but it's quiet and husky, not mocking

"Donnie, you've really got to learn to relax."

"-'t" My voice is muffled by my arms. She slides a hand under my chin, tilting my head up and back. What feels like a kiss grazes over my ear slit, hot breath tickling inside and making me shudder again.

"I didn't catch that."

I swallow hard.

"I-I…I can't. How can I relax when you're touching me?" I sound quite terse.

Oh, smooth one, Donnie.

She stops. I figure I've blown it, just like always. Then I feel the warmth of her hand sliding over my shoulder, slipping under the leather strap to caress where it meets my plastron.

"Then you'll just have to get used to it." Her hand slides lower.

Alarm bells are going off in my head, but as distantly as though the fire were down the block and not in my loins. I should probably be trying to stop this, although it would be awkward with the huge office chair and her embrace hemming me in and my hazy mind can't focus on a single reason _why _I should stop this. Instead, I squeeze my eyes shut, silently begging for just the opposite.

Those slim and sensitive fingers tug at my belt, pulling along between them until she finds the fastening and deftly works it loose; the loud 'clink' of the buckles hitting the concrete floor is utterly lost in the blood rushing in my ears. Dimly, I'm surprised there's any blood left to work my brain, as I definitely can't think clearly with her touch seemingly all over me.

Her hand brushes over my knee, and a thrill chases the unease up my spine and into oblivion. Her fingernails prick me a little, and I groan fully this time, spreading my thighs without hesitation at only this lightest persuasion from her. I imagine she smiles with feminine satisfaction at my submission, though of course I can't see. She can see me, though; my face feels like it's on fire, and I know she's aware of the dark blush staining my cheeks, not to mention the fact that I've been trembling uncontrollably since she first touched me.

"Hmmmm…what's this?" Her hand slides between my legs, perhaps not finding what she expected. I suppose I'd never thought to give her a crash course on turtle anatomy, and I wouldn't have made it through this part even if I'd tried such a thing. But she's a clever woman, and her fingertips are gently probing, seeking, until she finds the slit usually nearly hidden in the surface of my plastron, now clearly defined by the turgidity of the flesh just inside. Now I panic.

"A-April, I don't think you should, I mean I want you to, but-"

"Shhhhhhhhh." She shushes me, the warmth of her breath against my neck and the side of my face oddly soothing despite the tension. I've long since broken out into a hot sweat, and she brushes her lips over the back and side of my head, tasting my discomfort. My arousal. My need. "Just be still and enjoy."

I'm certainly enjoying, but I can't be still. She's found her way into my most intimate places, and my whole body jerks uncontrollably as her fingers wrap around me. Fortunately, her touch is almost feather-light in its gentleness, because even I'm not sure what'd happen if she squeezed me now.

"How interesting…" The cloaca self-lubricates a bit, and she swirls her fingers in the light and silky fluid. The shaft must feel natural to her grasp, because her hand slides easily around it, grasping gently but firmly as she releases me. The sudden cool air on supremely sensitive flesh is nothing compared to the scorching heat of her touch, or her breath on my ear.

"Oh, it's so big." She sounds surprised, and something about that arouses me still more, making me wince with the effort of not bucking against her smooth palm. She can't even begin to hold me all at once, and I'm desperate for more, to feel the play of her soft skin against my leathery. Her lips press down warmly where my neck and shoulder meet, and it's like she already knows just what I need. Just what I've dreamed of.

"Oh April, please, please-" My voice comes out a pathetic whimper, cut off by a husked moan as she strokes me at last. She squeezes, gently at first, then more firmly as she senses my need for more contact, a rougher touch. Her other hand had been resting on my thigh, but suddenly those fingers are curved around my shaft too, as though she wants to feel as much of me at once as possible. I'm whining with need, my hips moving of their own volition, trying to thrust in and out of the sweet trap her fingers have made for me. She frowns, making that adorable little wrinkle between her eyebrows, and suddenly the chair spins around. She's on top of me. Her legs pin mine to the sides of the chair, and she kisses my lips for the first time. It's just a brushing of her mouth over mine, but it leaves me breathless and staring at her, like a wide-eyed child.

"Be still." She says the words against my lips. I open my mouth the way I opened my legs, offering my body as her scaffold to Elysium. My own hands had been gripping the arms of the chair till they ached, but now they're as restless as hers; they dip under the hem of her t-shirt, pulling the bright yellow fabric up until it catches on the curve of her breasts; she grabs it from my hands and yanks it off over her head. My fingers snag in the lacy pale buttercup confection she wears beneath, gently tugging down until those luscious twin peaches are finally free and blushing beneath the heat of my gaze and the flimsy garment is lost to the floor behind us as well. I nuzzle breathily between her breasts, planting tiny kisses all over until she grabs my head, forcing me closer. I gladly consent, taking one candy pink nipple in my mouth, and then the other. She arches her back in pleasure, and I reach around to support her and pull her in, easily spanning her tiny waist. She's as sweaty and flushed as I am now, moaning little whimpers voicing her approval of my mouth on her body.

The old chair creaks unsteadily. I shove weeks' worth of delicate soldering off my desk; it clatters to the floor with a noisy series of crashes that could wake the dead, never mind a family of ninja, but I don't care. I perch her on the edge, looking up into cerulean eyes to gauge her reactions. She seems to approve as I fumble clumsily with the buttons on her denim shorts. I struggle with the black tights beneath until she hooks her fingers in the band and pulls them down, confronting me with her smooth and creamy thighs. She's so beautiful that I literally ache to taste her; when I drop my head to kiss a crooked line across her thigh, then inward, she's so delicious that my mouth literally waters. The panties she wears are a mere scrap of innocently yellow; I catch them in my teeth and rip them away, leaving her womanly scent and blushing flesh naked to my perusal. The curve of her mound is adorned by a wildfire of coppery red curls, and I can't resist running a slow fingertip along them; I'm started from my trance when she moans and presses against my finger.

"Donnie, please, more…"

"I could never refuse you, my dear." My voice is rough with arousal and tight with fascination as I caress her. She seems so small and vulnerable in my hands. I teasingly trace up her slit, barely touching at all, smiling conspiratorially to myself when just the lightest pressure at the top of that motion makes her hips jerk and draws out another moan. Teasing, I kiss her there; I ease a fingertip just inside the tightly furled outer lips. She's already damp and welcoming around my finger as I probe tenderly at the opening; she spreads her legs wider to admit me. I watch her face as I penetrate her so slowly and sweetly that she begs me for more even as she's nearly filled by a single digit. Her expression changes from anticipation to sheer ecstasy as I press the pad of my thumb against her clit, rubbing in tiny circles and swirls, and her wetness is seeping onto the rest of my fingers as the motion of her hips, pushing for more, shows her approval.

Suddenly her warm weight is on my lap again, my knees held between her spread ones. She reaches for my manhood once more, squeezing and massaging almost brutally hard in her excitement. I gasp into her shoulder as she manhandles me, but I love the roughness all the same. The way she shimmies into my touch guides my fingers, and I carefully slip another finger inside, feeling the hot wetness of her sheath all but sucking me in as I do. Her hands on me take on a new urgency as we pleasure one another; me smoothly and carefully, her wildly and thoughtlessly. I'm holding my breath now, willing myself not to think about the gravity of what's happening now, of her naked in my lap and our bodies so close together that I could just nudge myself inside, tenderly impale her and steal the virginity I can feel so snug against my fingers.

"Ungh!" My slow and teasing touch on her clit works a kind of gradual magic, a slow launch into an abyss of ecstasy as she smashes her face against my plastron so hard that she must be seeing stars, muffling her scream in my waiting body. "Donnie!"

I kiss the back of her head soothingly, losing myself in the silky-soft red mass, no longer in a ponytail but hanging loose in damp ringlets stuck to the sweaty skin of her neck and my shoulders. As she spasms around my fingers, she's so unbelievably hot and tight and welcoming, begging silently, trying to milk my digits for more than I can give her this way. That thought is too much for me, and I lean back with a strangled groan.

"April…April, I…" At the last instant, her eyes meet mine; they're still liquid; no, molten from her fifteen seconds in oblivion, and she watches me unflinchingly as I come too; with nothing to muffle my cry of release, it's much louder than hers, and almost pained. I come harder and more than I ever have before, making us both wet and sticky even as I gently slip out of her to cover her fingers, still wrapped around my shaft, with my own even as the liquid heat splashes us both, my hips jerking against her grasp.

With all the ninja skills I've learned, it takes a long time to get my breathing under control. The chair's vinyl cover sticks uncomfortably to my skin, but curled together, we're our own private ball of afterglow despite the discomfort. I close my eyes and am content to just be with her for the moment, even as our rapidly cooling skin and the sounds of the others outside tells me that this moment of bliss won't last.

She opens her eyes first, starting to pull away, but leaving a tender kiss on my beak. As she reaches for her clothes, her scent of strawberry shampoo and cinnamon gum has soaked into me; permanently, I hope. I notice her looking around, and I turn away with a new flush, this time shyly and with a bit of shame.

"Sorry…sorry I made such a mess."

"It's okay." Her voice is quiet, but it has that lilt to it that I know means she's smiling. When I dare to look at her again, indeed, she's smiling at me.


	2. Chapter 2

I don't think this is what she expected when I said I'd teach her _nawajutsu_. In fact, from the stormy look on her face, I'm _positive_ it isn't what she expected. I give her an indulgent smile, patting the top of her head; she glares at me, but doesn't pull away.

Few are aware that the various sashes, straps, and head-coverings of the ninja serve as more than mere garments. _Nawajutsu _is the ancient art of binding an opponent for capture or execution, and it's to be found in tandem with many traditional Japanese martial arts; in fact, it's the purpose behind the cord wrapped around a katana's sheath and hilt. Of course, in this day and age, it's been adapted to less violent purposes; like all arts, it loans itself nicely to the pleasures of the flesh.

I'd held her wrists with the utmost gentleness, my mouth close to her ear, warning her not to struggle. The cold glint of the scalpel, every detail of the beyond-razor-sharp edge tallied under dozen fluorescent lights, convinced her. Though she consented to our game, her fear was palpable in the pounding of her heart that was audible as I sliced her t-shirt and bra away. It was amusing to watch her quail, and then the slump in her shoulders when she realized that, despite my seemingly unwieldy three-fingered hands, I am capable of literally surgical precision. I think she was surprised, too, by how securely yet comfortably I could bind her arms with just shreds of her clothing.

_Her tights have always held a special allure for me, and as I cut away her shorts and my hand rubs against their slight roughness, I'm seized by a nearly uncontrollable urge. Tenting my fingers in the delicate fabric, I easily rip it away from her thighs, leaving crude stockings and garters, plus her sweet little mound still covered. Two more equally judicious applications of the scalpel leave her panties free in my hands. I toss them aside, fascinated instead with the black nylon barely preserving her modesty. I press with one fingertip, molding the fabric to the contours of her inner and outer lips. My mouth waters. I reach beneath to cradle her perfectly round bottom in both hands as my tongue wets the ragged fabric against her. From above I hear a whimpering moan, and she's begun to swell against my lips and tongue, her clit suddenly erect and prodding me for more individual attention. Instead, I grasp the nylon in my teeth and rip it away, leaving her fully exposed to me. The denim of her discarded shorts makes fine rope as I bend both her legs at the knee, tenderly binding one slim ankle at a time to each end of the massive chest._

She's perched atop a 300-pound tool chest, in fact, right at eye height for my viewing pleasure. What remains of her clothing, tattered into rags despite my masterful work, binds her arms behind her and her legs wide open, straining just beyond the comfortable range of motion. I lean back in my chair, gazing appreciatively at the beautiful sight before me. Her bottom is quite red from the icy cold metal beneath; she persists in squirming, and that sweet nest of coppery curls is half-auburn with her arousal. She's so close I can almost taste her. She whimpers, a pearl of her nectar running down the lush curve of her mound even as I watch. But with her bound and ready in my soundproof workshop and the others out scavenging scrap metal for my many projects, there's plenty of time for that.

A long strip from her abused tights remains; I bind it around her head three times, gently but firmly knotting it in back the same way I do my own mask. At three passes it's opaque, and with her eyesight disabled, her expression is now sweetly consternated by disorientation. I can't resist leaning down to kiss that look away, at least partially, reassuring her with the gentle pressure of my lips. It's a pity she won't see the gifts I made for her, only feel them. This time.

Bound as she is, the perfect morsels of her breasts are on showcase, straining outward and given a life of their own by her heaving breaths. I turned on the space heater before I lured my princess here, keeping the workshop just warm enough that the velvety rosebuds my mouth knows as her nipples are still soft and tender. Their blushing innocence before my eyes sends a _frisson_ of wickedness through me for what I'm about to do to her.

Moving stealthily to silence the clink of metal on metal, I let the thin-gauge, almost imperceptibly light silver chain slide teasingly down over her skin. She frowns, obviously confused. At the each end of the chain is a small alligator clamp, the threads inside filed to mere gentle ridges to prevent injury to her lovely skin. She makes a little sound of surprise and discomfort as the first clamp closes around a nipple. I stop immediately, watching her face for any sign of real pain.

"Do you want me to stop?" Bounded and blinded, I know she's isolated in her own tiny universe of nothing but my voice and these tenderly cruel sensations. She shakes her head.

The second clip goes on a little more easily. She's obviously in discomfort but, as a glance between her thighs confirms, enjoyment as well. I turn then to the bells.

They're what are colloquially known as "jingle bells," crafted by my own hands from a nickel-aluminum alloy that's just heavy enough for my little game with her. The steel balls within are each of slightly different size and shape, producing varying notes on the musical scale. Holding them tightly between second and third finger pad to silence them for now, I clip the first two bells, one on each side, to the chain arcing heavily between her breasts. As I release it, there's a soft chiming and a gentle weight pulling against the clamp. With her senses heightened by deprivation of her eyesight, she seems to feel the tiny tug most clearly; her expression now is a blend of discomfort and pleasure that gives me a hot, rather heavy feeling of butterflies in my stomach. I add two more; the bells' sweet tinkling song makes a perfect accompaniment to her little whimpers of confliction as the increased weight forces her nipples into aroused turgidity.

I stop at six on each side, when her face is just beginning to look twisted with a throbbing sensation near pain. Working for nights, I had lovingly coated each bell in a thin layer of niobium, and the diffuse, glowing rainbow is beautiful against the rapidly flushing milkiness of her bosom and belly. I tweak each one with a slight flick of my thumb, testing its sound and her response; she shudders every time, as even the tiniest motion is electrically charged for her in this state.

The third chain attaches to the other two in a "y" shape; as I lift it, I notice a look of tentative relief on her face as it takes some of the strain off her now fully-budded, almost hot pink, nipples. She feels my breath whispering over her most private place, then cries out at the sudden, unexpected feeling of my thick and leathery tongue probing between her outer lips, quickly turning to hitching asps as her own motions cause an aching tug on her swollen and abused nipples. The tip of my tongue dips into her entrance, laving lemon meringue-flavored cream from around the tight opening before tracing a slow upward line. Bound spread-eagle and tormented by her pretty little jesses, she can do nothing but sob in pleasurable frustration as my tongue slides over her clit, drowning each bundled nerve in ecstasy. I suckle it noisily, making a wet pop as I release it. She looks confused for a moment, then tenses up as she realizes what comes next.

"Ah, Donnie, I don't know if-"

"Shhhhhh. Just trust me, April." She nods gingerly, hesitantly, then cries out again as the third tiny alligator clamp closes around her engorged center of pleasure; though the inside of the metal is polished entirely smooth, the pressure, and accompanying pain, are intense for a long moment in which she whimpers, her head turning restlessly from side to side as she seeks a relief that doesn't exist in her personal cocoon of feeling. Standing between her spread thighs, I kiss her; it's soothing and perhaps a tiny bit distracting, but firm. Though she trembles and pauses to catch herself between new waves of pain, she returns my kiss eagerly.

Hovering over her with an engineer's attention to detail, I attach more of the little rainbow bells to the final chain; the lightest touch makes each one sing and her twitch involuntarily. I grasp her thighs, one in each hand; I love the slivers of nearly-white flesh appearing between my fingers as I gently pull her to the very edge of the tool chest, leaving her rear dangling tenuously over open air and setting off a symphony of jingling; the impromptu bonds bite into her skin a bit more, but I know she barely feels a thing over the intense sensations along the chains.

Her outer lips are parted without bidding now, weeping her arousal all over her rosy-pink skin, her new toys, and my fingertip as it slips in gently, shallowly, testing her readiness. Though my touch is light, her nerves are on fire with the complex interplay of agony and ecstasy she causes herself with even the slightest motion.

"Please, Donnie, please, I need you to-"

I loom over her, and though she can't see me, I know she can sense the shadow falling across her face as I move to kiss her neck.

"You need me to what, April? Untie you?"

She shakes her head, then cringes at the twinges even that motion causes. I laugh quietly in her ear, a low sound that comes out half-purr. My lips find the sweet spot behind the curving rim of her ear, close to where her neck begins, and I bite down with calculated roughness. My voice rumbles against her neck.

"Do you want me to take off the clamps?" Emphasizing my words, I give one of the bells nearest her clit a tweak. She cries out, but still shakes her head. I lean on my elbows so I can watch her face, my breath warm on her on her moist skin.

"I need you to...I need you to..." She keeps swallowing the last words, and speaks as roughly as though her throat were turned to sandpaper.

"Say it, April." It's a quiet growl, but a growl nonetheless, and even now she looks a little startled at my air of command. Her darts out to slick over her lips.

"D-do me." Once she gets those two words out, it seemingly becomes easier, and though I've tied her legs as wide as they can open, the hesitant need in her voice is much more of an invitation. "Do me...like one of your machines, Donnie."

My mouth dips to her neck once more, murmuring into the tender hollow of her throat. "Anything for you, my sweet." I released myself long ago without noticing, my arousal far too painful pressing against the rigid flesh of the cloaca to stay restrained, and my breath comes out in a hiss of sudden sensory overload as the head rubs over her silky wetness, even just barely. She seems to pull me in even as I press forward; she's so wet that I have to brace my elbows on the now rather heated metal to keep from penetrating her fully in one smooth motion. It's beautiful to study her face as I enter her: She bites into her lower lip at the stretching sensation as her body slowly accommodates my length and girth even as it begs for me to push on; from under the blindfold, I can see tiny creases around her eyes forming and disappearing as the bells and clamps tug at her most sensitive spots with even the slightest motion of our bodies. I look down and see myself sheathed nearly to the hilt, her flushed and welcoming petals furled so tightly around me that I see only a sliver of green beneath us. I groan, letting my weight rest just a tiny bit on her playfully tortured breasts as my mouth devours hers, thickly muttering her name against the back of her throat.

"April...April..." It's a musical sound to me even in this humid reverie of conflicting sensation. I've lost control of my hips, and possibly my mind. Even three hundred pounds of steel creaks slightly as I pound a frenzied but loving rhythm into her pleading body; every one of eighteen little bells cries out as frantically as she does with each thrust, but she's the one screaming my name even as I'm grunting hers, over and over. Tightly-wound from hours of sensory torment, she comes almost too easily and powerfully the first time; though the shimmering of her tight sheath around me threatens to finish me too, I've found a focus within myself I didn't even know I had.

Reaching low between our bodies, I play almost idly with the noisy trinkets adorning her body, slim but now toned from kunoichi training. As I pluck lightly at them, they make a pleasing melody in tune with my thrusts; I'm playing not only the bells, but every nerve in her body, now utterly drowned in sensation. Her face is an ever-shifting mask of uncertain pleasure and discomfort from the tsunami of feeling. As I watch with a not-quite-detached scientist's self-assurance, though, I can see the pleasure gradually winning, building up over a crest into sheer ecstasy and bliss as she hollers my name again.

"_Donnie!_"

My lips find hers purely instinctively, open-mouthed though I can barely speak.

"Good girl...yes, oh yes, oh god, April..." The sound the bells make is a harsh and discordant clamor as I thrust a final time, losing myself utterly inside her. Every thought I've ever had melts uselessly at the periphery of my mind as I fill her, feeling my liquid warmth mingling with her own. Though she still jerks and spasms with her second orgasm, trying to drain my body of my very life essence, something in my heart nags me that she can't hold the volume of what I've poured into her; not my love, not my semen, not the awkward, isolated half-man half-turtle who she found purely by accident. Though the pleasure is still compressing my spine and making me push deeper into her, the thought gives me equal pain, and I start to pull away. I'm already formulating my apology, wondering if this journey into just the shallow end of my deviance will steal her from me forever.

Glancing down at her face, she looks confused, lost, a little hurt. My whole body cringes. The bells tinkle uncaringly at the movement.

"Where are you going?" It's a threadbare whisper. She's straining against the scraps of yellow cotton tying her wrists, and I reach behind her to work them loose and free her hands. If she minds that my plastron presses against her now exceedingly tender nipples, she shows no sign of it. Instead, her arms grace my neck in that way that's become so endearingly familiar, as though I'm only home when she's holding me this way. Her fingers brush over my cheek and the rounded tip of my beak, the pad of her thumb sliding along my lips. "Don't leave me."


End file.
